


Photograph

by of_dreamdust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6645589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/of_dreamdust/pseuds/of_dreamdust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was of much lower quality, grainy and wrinkled. It was printed some months ago, in one of those small public libraries, on a cheap paper, between old newspaper clippings and a Wikipedia article about Pied Piper.<br/>But it was a photo of one of the best things that had happened to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> You can always find me on [tumblr](http://onehandfulofdreamdust.tumblr.com)! :)

One could argue that Dean Winchester didn’t have many possessions to begin with, much less those of sentimental value. Everything that Dean owned could be fitted into his old duffel bag, splotchy and ugly, with its edges sewed together one too many times by an unskilled hand.

The bag contained some clothes (most of it from second-hand shops), a small toiletry bag with some toothpaste and deodorant, and his dad’s old journal.

There were also some books in the trunk of his car, but those were mostly referred to as ‘Sam’s books’ – all except an old edition of Bradbury, with its cover wrinkled and its pages yellowing and falling out like leaves.

Of course, there was his knife in his right boot, and a gun tucked safely in his pocket.

And in the inside pocket of his jacket there was a wallet. It was an old thing, too, picked up at some thrift shop years ago, made of fake brown leather that started to peel in the place where it was being folded. The wallet contained a bunch of fake credit cards, two fake IDs and, occasionally, some cash and coins for the vending machines, for the time they were staying at cheap old motel rooms.

And in the one of its pockets, there were two pictures.

One of them was an old Polaroid picture of Mary Winchester, smiling so brightly, with both of her arms around Dean’s shoulders. He couldn’t have been more than four in that photo; he doesn’t remember when it had been taken, but it was one of the happiest memories he didn’t have.

And then there was the second photo. It was of much lower quality, grainy and wrinkled. It was printed some months ago, in one of those small public libraries, on a cheap paper, between old newspaper clippings and a Wikipedia article about Pied Piper. (It was the strangest and one of the most disturbing cases in months. It still itched under Dean’s skin when he remembered it.)

He kept it well hidden, behind one of the IDs and an old fake business card that they never really used anymore. He rarely when even looked at it. (Only on those long nights when he couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t fight, and Sam was snoring soundly, overwhelmed by fatigue.)

It was an accident that he even pulled the ID out. He didn’t watch what he was doing – he meant to go for the credit card – and the photo fell out of its pocket, under Dean’s feet.

Sam made a move to catch it, but Dean pushed at his hand. “I got it,” he muttered under his breath.

He hurried to push it back inside, while uninterested cashier continued chewing gum, with her hand still outstretched for the credit card.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured and hurried to pull out the right card this time, feeling his cheeks warming up. “Let me just…”

“Is that Cas?” Sam blurted, his eyes still fixed on the photo in Dean’s hand.

“No,” Dean answered as he finally managed to put the photo back in its place.

“Yes, it is,” Sam insisted as they picked up their bags and hurried out of the store. “It’s Cas’ picture.”

Dean said nothing as he unlocked the car and sat in the driver’s seat. He started the engine before Sam even put the bags in the back seat.

Dean didn’t turn on the radio, and Sam didn’t ask any further. He noticed the set of Dean’s jaw and his tense shoulders, his knuckles white as he squeezed the wheel.

Sam knew better than to ask questions.

***

It was only a couple of months later that the photo was brought up again.

Dean was lying in bed, with Castiel safely pressed at his side, under two blankets and with Game of Thrones in the background.

Dean felt so content and safe, Cas’ fingers gently scratching at his chest, that he started dozing off.

It was Castiel’s quiet voice that startled him fully awake. “Sam told me you have my picture.”

“Wh-what?” Dean started to panic and he didn’t even know why, but his chest was tight, and his heart was pounding.

“He told me you keep it in your wallet,” Cas continued, watching him carefully.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah, umm. Yeah, I do.” He stopped his breath as he waited for Cas to say something.

“I don’t have yours,” Cas murmured into his shoulders.

“Why would you want my picture?” Dean blurted, and Castiel frowned.

“Why do you keep mine?”

Dean started fidgeting with his hands, his heart pounding in his ears.

“Can I see it?” Castiel said after a few seconds, sitting up. “The picture in your wallet.”

Dean nodded and stood up, feeling a bit at ease now that he was moving. He found his wallet, pulled the picture out and wordlessly handed it to Cas. He watched Castiel’s face, while slowly climbing back into the bed.

It was a shitty, shitty quality, Dean thought. He had taken it himself, god knows how long ago, when Castiel dozed off on one of the beds in one of somewhat nicer motels. It wasn’t extremely beautiful, it wasn’t artistic at all, but Castiel had looked relaxed for the first time in weeks and Dean wanted to remember him.

“It’s for when you’re not here,” Dean almost whispered when Castiel took too long to answer. “You know,” he scratched the back of his neck, “sometimes we don’t see each other in weeks, and- and I worry. And I miss you.”

Castiel looked at him and smiled. He wrapped his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

“It’s a good photo,” Cas said.

It was a shitty photo, Dean thought as he settled back into the pillows, pulling Castiel back against his side. But it was a photo of one of the best things that had happened to him, so damn him if he wasn’t going to cling to it.

“I’d like to have yours,” Castiel whispered against his shoulder. “For when I miss you, too.”

Dean kissed the top of his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll get you one.”


End file.
